


Love Bites

by DangerFloof



Series: A Two Parent, Two Bottles of Wine a Night Job [1]
Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Teenage Drama, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-08 13:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14694732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerFloof/pseuds/DangerFloof
Summary: It’s summertime, and Louise and her best pal Rudy decide to figure out what’s the big deal about all this sex stuff.  Things don’t go quite as planned for either of them.  Fortunately, Tina and Gene are there to help out.“Love bites, love bleedsIt's bringing me to my kneesLove lives, love diesIf you've got love in your sightsWatch outLove bites”“Love Bites,” by Def Leppard





	1. ONE

“An angel's smile is what you sell  
You promise me heaven, then put me through Hell  
Chains of love got a hold on me  
When passions a prison, you can't break free

Oh, you're a loaded gun, yeah  
Oh, there's nowhere to run  
No one can save me  
The damage is done

Shot through the heart  
And you're to blame  
Darlin', you give love a bad name”

“You Give Love a Bad Name,” by Bon Jovi

 

            Fourteen-year-old Louise tosses her phone on the bed, sighs, and resumes lightly banging her head on her desk. It shouldn’t help, but somehow it gives her a focus, the slight discomfort on her forehead distracting her from the messy, convoluted feelings in her heart. She checks her alarm clock: half an hour to go before Tina is off work and joins her on Skype. _Crap._

            She pockets her phone, creeps out of her room, and tiptoes down the stairs, expertly lifting herself on the banisters to lightly vault over the creaky fourth and fifth steps. Her parents are snoring like dueling banjos, a call and response punctuated by occasional farts, but Louise knows from long experience that her mother practically has radar in her sleep. Gene is at some party, the lucky bastard, probably getting wasted, maybe getting laid. _Damn it! Why does everything have to come back to stupid sex?_

            Louise makes it down to the basement undetected. She turns on the lights and grabs bottled water from the mini-fridge she bought with her tip money, the final thing she needed to make her personal gym complete. Of course it’s not as nice as the one at the YMCA, but the Louise Lair, as her mother calls it, is always open. Louise gives the speed-bag her father hung for her years ago a light tap, then another. The chain rattles, and she grabs the bag to still it. The last thing she needs is for her father to wake up. (“The Louise Lair is open 24/7, but the boxing corner closes at bedtime,” Bob has sleepily growled at her more than once from the top of the stairs.) Her mother has an ear for her kids sneaking around at night, but her father has an almost preternatural ability to hear the clink and thud of Louise working the speed or body bags, even in the basement.

Louise all but lives for the fight, but she’s too heartsore right now to manage an argument with her father on top of everything else, and besides, she might miss her window to talk to Tina, who seems almost busier during the summer in Chicago than she is during the school year.

            Nope. She rolls out her yoga mat and sets to work on her abs. Not ABS, the terrible Frond-fronted conflict resolution program, but her abdominals, her core. It’s as good of a place to start as any; she’s going to need a strong stomach for this conversation.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

 

            At exactly 12:30 she opens Skype and types “You there?”

            After what feels like forty hours, Tina types back, “Putting on my headphones.”

            Louise, one earbud already firmly in place, the other draped over her back so she can keep her ear open for movement upstairs, hits the video button, and Tina’s face pops into view. Her makeup looks cakey from her long shift at…wherever. Tina keeps changing jobs, so Louise isn’t sure where she works now, and there are dark rings under her eyes that concealer and glasses just can’t hide. But Tina smiles at the sight of her sister, and Louise starts to feel better already.

            “Okay, so what’s the top-secret thing you couldn’t just text me? Dish, girl.”

            From anyone else with such a flat monotone it would sound impatient or condescending, but Louise knows how to read her sister, to hear the micro-inflections, to spot the tiniest flicker of her carefully drawn-on brows.

            “Oh God, T, I really fucked up this time.”

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            It started a couple of months ago, at the tail end of her freshman year. Louise dutifully helped her parents close the restaurant, ate dinner, and watched an hour of The Burn Unit with her father, but there was no way she’d then go to bed like a good little girl. That was far too dull a way to spend a Friday night for Louise. She waited in her new room--Tina's old room, they switched after Tina went away to college--until almost 10:30, when she could hear her parents snoring, then shimmied down the newly-installed fire escape wearing Gene's old blue hoodie, a brownie tucked in her pocket, and her sneakers in her hand. El Diablo Dos, who Linda assured Teddy and Ginger was as evil as his father, watched, chewing a stale hamburger bun, as Louise tied her shoes and took off down the street to Regular-Sized Rudy’s father’s house.

            It wasn’t a far jog, but far enough for Louise to register the difference between the financial status of the two families. Once out of the Old Town district, the streets were wider, lined mostly with homes—big, two-story houses, with actual back yards—and punctuated with the occasional gas station. She stepped in the shadow of the big tree outside of Rudy’s window and caught her breath as she took out her phone and sent a text to her best friend.

            **Louise:** Get down here, dummy.

            He flashed his bedroom light twice, and came around from the back of the house a couple of minutes later. His eyes found her shape in the dark. “Where are we going?”

            Louise grabbed his hand and took off running back to the pier, dragging him with her. “I don’t know!”

            They stopped running too soon for Louise’s taste, but Reg-Rude’s lungs couldn’t manage as much as her’s could. His asthma had vastly improved since they were kids, so much so that, though breathing heavily, he waved off her suggestion that he pull out his inhaler. They slowly walked the rest of the way to the beach.

In retrospect, Louise realizes that the fact that he didn’t release her hand, but instead grasped it even more firmly, was the first sign that things were going to go terribly wrong.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            In the basement, Louise begins to play with the plastic lid to her bottle, running her thumb along the rough edge, trying to figure out where to begin her story. “Okay, you know how we talked over Christmas break, that me and Rudy—“

            “Rudy and I,” Tina corrects automatically, her English-major brain, as always, in high gear.

            “Whatever. When I told you that _Rudy and I_ were kind of talking about, you know…”

            “Sex.”

            “Yeah. Everyone’s always saying how amazing it is, so we kind of wanted to try it. So we did.”

            “When?”

            “Two weeks ago Saturday. His Dad was on some singles retreat.”

            “Oh.” Tina frowns. “It’s too early to know, you know.”

            This throws Louise off. “What are you talking about?”

            “Well, I’m assuming you used condoms—“

            Louise is as red as Tina’s lipstick. “Of course we did!” Rudy, for all of his enthusiasm—or, perhaps, _because_ of his enthusiasm—hadn’t been able to make it to the register without his inhaler, and eventually gave up. So Louise, sighing, determinedly staring down the leering clerk with the giant plugs stretching his earlobes, bought them herself.

            “But they’re only, like, 80% effective.”

            The penny drops. “No, Tina,” she says slowly. “I’m not afraid I’m pregnant.” She makes a face. “I’m afraid someone caught _feelings_.”

            The corners of Tina’s mouth tug into a small smile. “I always figured you two would make a cute couple.”

            “Yeah, Rudy thinks so too.”

            “And you…don’t?”

            “No, Tina, I do not.”

            Tina considers this. “Well, Zeke and I didn’t like-like each other, and it wasn’t the end of the world.”

            Louise shudders against the unwanted mental image. “Yeah, but you guys were on the same page.”

            “And you two aren’t?”

            “I thought we were.” Louise buries her face in her hands.

            Tina considers for a minute. “Are you…uh, sure he feels that way?”

            Louise sighs and begins to tick off the signs on her fingers. “He texts me, like, four times a day, he calls me “babe,” he just _assumed_ we were going to the party tonight together, and—get this—he sent me a mix CD of his favorite songs. They’re all love ballads!”

            “A mix CD?”

            “I know, right? What year is this?”

            The sisters share the low, guttural groan of angst and despair that Tina perfected years ago, and Louise is beginning to understand. Why does life have to be so _hard_?


	2. TWO

“My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you  
I've been running around in circles in my mind  
And it always seems that I'm following you, girl  
'Cause you take me to the places  
That alone I'd never find”

“Can’t Fight this Feeling,” by REO Speedwagon

 

            “Was it that bad?” Tina asks.

            Louise considers. Some of it was pretty nice, but now she understands the whole medieval sheet-stain thing, and jokes about cherry popping make her inwardly cringe. She shrugs. “It was fine, I guess. Would have been better if at least one of us knew what we were doing. ”

            “That makes sense.”

            “But that’s not the point,” Louise adds quickly.

             “He might think so.”

             Louise pinches the bridge of her nose and groans. “I know! That makes it, like, a million times worse. Why won’t he just take the hint and stop already?”

            Tina blinks and leans forward, her face filling the screen. Louise is sure she could count the pores on her sister’s nose. “Wait, you haven’t _told_ him?”

            “Well T, I ignored most of his messages, told him I’d break his face if he called me ‘babe’ again, and threw away the CD. If that doesn’t communicate ‘no’—“

            Tina facepalms. “That’s how girls think. He’s a guy. You have to tell him directly, in small, simple words.”

            “Tina, if someone I slept with avoided me--”

            “Rudy isn’t you.”

            Louise turns the idea over in her mind. “It’ll break his heart. Can’t I just go into witness protection or something?”

            Tina looks genuinely sorry. “His heart is already broken, he just doesn’t know it yet. And hearts do mend, eventually.”

            Louise buries her face in her hands. “Son of a bitch.”

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            After Rudy caught his breath--or at least, enough of his breath to continue on--Louise and Rudy, swinging their clasped hands, walked past Wonder Warf to their favorite outcropping of rocks on the beach; low enough to climb, yet high enough to not be totally drenched in seawater, and far enough from the Warf for reasonable privacy. The rides were still, and the oily smell of carnival food was blown in their direction by the cool ocean breeze. Last-call partiers, some carrying enormous stuffed animals, many slightly drunk, passed the teens without comment.

            They climbed, the soles of their sneakers slipping on the wet rocks. Always the gentleman, Rudy offered Louise a hand that she didn’t really need, but accepted anyway. It was a lovely, albeit cool and humid night. Louise liked the way the moonlight danced on the waves, but she’d never admit to anything so corny out loud.

            She pulled the brownie out of her pocket, broke it, and offered half to Rudy. They chewed slowly.

            “You can barely taste it in there,” Rudy marveled.

            Louise sucked the chocolate off her finger. “I think it’s the peanut butter.” She’d gladly traded shifts with Gene for it; Gene could always be counted on to get his hands on good edibles, and never thought about the tips she’d make that he wouldn’t. It was a total win-win.

            Rudy shivered and turned to look off down the beach. Louise drew an arm around him and laid her head on his shoulder. It was odd; usually Louise was the one who was cold, and Rudy the one who ran hot. Still, he was so lanky now—too tall to be “regular-sized” in anything but memory—that she guessed it wasn’t surprising he needed the extra warmth. He rested his chin on her head and laughed softly. “Look.”

            At first Louise could just see strange, pale shapes down the beach, but studying them more carefully she could make out two naked people, of indefinable genders, fucking out in the open.

            “Ha!” She drew breath to yell something that she knew would be drowned out by the Atlantic anyway, but Rudy clapped a hand over her mouth.

            “Aw, let ‘em have this one.”

            Louise bit his finger. He drew it back with a hiss and brought it to his mouth, his lips where her’s had been.

            They watched for a while as the dominant figure humped the other one. They pulled apart, then one dropped to their knees before the other, presumably to give a blow-job.

            “Dang.” Rudy was slightly wheezy.

            Louise wrinkled her nose. “That’s all anyone can talk about. Sex, sex, sex!”

            “I know.” Rudy’s breath was warm on her cheek as he pulled her closer to him. She didn’t object.

            “Who’s doing what with who—“

            “Whom.”

            “Shut up, _Tina_ ,” Louise glowered at him. “What’s the big deal? It sounds messy to me.”

            “Yeah,” he said with a sigh, and began to nuzzle her ear.

            He was a featherweight compared to Louise, who disliked alcohol, but got stoned as often as she could. _His pupils are probably the size of quarters already_ , she mused with a smile, offering him her neck. His fingers unwound her hair tie and the wind blew her thick black curls around them.

            Louise sighed happily. Somehow, getting high always led to them making out; it wasn’t planned, and they never talked about it later.  They’d been doing this on and off for a year, long enough for Rudy to know exactly where to nip her neck to make her moan, long enough for him to appreciate her mouth on his, demanding, insistent, taking his breath away both physically and metaphorically.   He broke off, gasping. Louise moved so he could get to his inhaler. He took a couple of puffs. Collected himself.

            Languidly, she reached up to play with the short red hairs on his neck. Rudy leaned into her hand like a ginger cat.

            “Have you done it yet?” he asked.

            "It?"  He gave her a significant look.  It took her a second to figure out what he meant. “No. Have you?”

            “’Course not, I would’ve told you.”

            They told each other everything. Louise even told him when she got her first period.

            “Maybe, you know…” His voice drifted into a soft groan as Louise nipped his earlobe.

            “What?”

            “I was thinking, maybe…we should try it. We’re…friends…and…”

            Louise began to move her lips down his neck. “Very close friends.”

            She clamped down on the sweet spot and laughed a soft, wicked laugh as he gasped her name.


	3. THREE

_“One look, could kill_  
_My pain, your thrill_

 _I wanna love you but I better not touch_  
_I wanna to hold you, but my senses tell me to stop_  
_I wanna to kiss you but I want it too much_  
_I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison_  
_You're poison, running through my veins_  
_You're poison_  
_I don't want to break these chains_ "

“Poison,” by Alice Cooper

 

 

            “I swear I haven’t peed in eight hours!”

            “Louise.”

            “Well, Dad, I haven’t.”

            Bob continues to scrape the grill. “Nobody has, Louise! Welcome to the restaurant business! Nobody pees, nobody eats. Except customers. They can, uh, do both, I guess.”

            Gene looks up from the corner where he’s bagging the third load of trash for the day. “Yikes, sounds like somebody missed his 4:30 meeting, too.”

            Louise laughs, then grimaces. The ache in her bladder is sharp now.

            “Just…do the trash, then go. Your mom and I will finish up down here.”

            Louise runs to the employee washroom, threatening to throat-punch anyone who gets in her way. She joins Gene in the alley a few minutes later. Gene is struggling to push a wet, lumpy bag into the dumpster. The streetlights flicker on, and the air is so humid it’s like breathing through a wet quilt.

            Louise picks up a bag with ease, and swings it into the dumpster. “Getting more like Dad every day. Soon your bald spot will start showing and we’ll put you two in the old folk’s home together. Group discount!”

            Gene shoves the bag in with a grunt. Without turning, he gives her the finger. “I’ll have you know that was a warm-up.”

            “Uh-huh.” Louise returns the gesture, and discovers that her middle finger is slick with bright yellow mustard. “Okay, new game.”

            “I’m listening.”

            “Whoever got the least tips today has to finish up the garbage.”

            A huge group of religious types had a convention in town that weekend, and stopped at the restaurant for lunch on the way home. Gene looks at the five remaining bags and considers. True, Louise did get several big families, but The Great Gene Charm Machine was on fire with the old ladies. “You’re on!”

            Ten minutes later, after counting, double-checking, and slapping Louise’s hand away from his pile of crumpled ones, Gene leaps up from the back step, arms high in victory. “Aaaand, the Gene Charm Machine has it!”

            “By five dollars, five measly dollars!” Louise, who never takes defeat easily, but also never backs out of a bet, begins hoisting the bags at the dumpster. The first one clangs on the side and drops to the ground, but mercifully doesn’t break open. “Stupid cheap-ass Mormons.”

            Gene pulls a harmonica out of his pocket, and blows off the pocket lint. “Mormons? I thought they were Methodists.”

            “Whatever. They’re terrible tippers, and I hope their bus explodes on the way home.” Gene may be more charming than she is, but Louise is the refill warrior. Ungrateful bastards.

            Gene plays a couple of bars. “I think I’ll call this one, ‘Louise’s Post-Mormon Blues.’”

            Louise wipes her filthy hands on Gene’s shorts. “Ass.”

            He plays a mournful tune as Louise finishes garbage detail.

            “Speaking of the blues,” Gene says in an off-hand-but-not-really tone, “What’s up with Rudy?”

            _Splat!_ The last bag misses the dumpster and bursts open.

            “Son of a bitch!” Louise wails. Naturally, it’s the bag of expired meat intermingled with regular trash. They know from long experience that Bob will blame them both if they don’t pick up every last bit of it. It’s one of the few things he’s a real stickler about. So, gagging, and blaming each other, then eventually blaming the trash bag company for their lousy, defective products, they clean the alley.

            “Ugh, I need a shower!” Louise groans as they finish, clanging the dumpster lid shut.

            Gene agrees. “I need a spa day.”

            “Gonna buy that with your wrongful earnings?”

            “What’s wrongful about tips?”

            “I saw you flirting with the old ladies.”

            He shrugs. “I can’t help that they liked what they saw. And you didn’t answer my question.”

            “What question?”

            Gene stares her down.

            “I don’t know. Nothing’s wrong with him. Whatever. It’s not my day to monitor Rudy’s feelings.”

            “He was pretty disappointed you weren’t at the party last night.”

            Louise plays with the gravel with the toe of her shoe. “Jessica was there. She kept him company.” Louise knows this because Jessica texted her about how sad Rudy was.

            Gene’s voice is gentle now. “It wasn’t Jessica’s company he wanted.”

            Louise groans.

            “I’m not trying to tell you what to feel, but if there’s anything worse than your crush not like-liking you, it’s not knowing if he like-likes you.”

            She picks up something in his tone. “You haven’t asked Lenny out yet, have you?”

            “This is about you, sister dear, not me. I’m just sayin’.”

            Louise draws a fist, but stops before she punches the brick wall. She takes to boxing the air with vicious jabs and uppercuts to relieve her feelings. “Damn it, I’m just…how do I tell him, Gene? You’re a guy. How do I make him understand that I like him, but I don’t like-like him, without making it…messy?”

            Gene is sitting on the steps again. He leans back a bit and looks up at her knowingly. “Well, first, you could admit the whole story to me, before you ask for my help.”

            Louise freezes, goosebumps rising on her arms. What does he know? Does everyone in Seymour Bay know that that she and Rudy did it? “What are you talking about?”

            “Don’t blame her too much, Louise. She thought I already knew and just blurted—“

            “Goddamn it! I’m going to mail a pipebomb to our sister’s apartment.”

            He leans forward. “First, not funny, and second, you can’t do that until after you wreak vengeance on the trash bag manufacturers. And talk to Rudy.”

            “Fine, one homicide at a time. You still haven’t answered my question.”

            “What do _you_ think you should say?”

            “Gee wiz, that’s _soooo_ helpful. You’re my Oprah.”

            Gene laughs softly. “Oh, how the tables have turned. Remember when I couldn’t break up with Courtney? My baby sister had some pretty good advice back then.”

            “I swear to God, Gene…”

            “Now you care about someone else’s feelings? Sounds like someone’s turning into people.”

            “I don’t want to be _people_! I just…I…son of a bitch.”

            Defeated, she slumps onto the step next to him and, to his surprise, actually begins to wring her hands. “I fucked it all up so bad, Gene. I thought he understood that we’re _just friends_. That it would be fun, you know, friends with benefits, but _just friends_. I-I’m…I’m… _af-a-a-afraid_ …I’m going to loose my best friend.   Not because of the sex, but because I did what I always do.”

            Gene rubs her shoulder. She doesn’t throw his hand off, which he takes as a good sign. “What’s that?”

            “It’s the bounce house all over again! I didn’t ask, I didn’t listen, I _assumed_.”

            They’re quiet for a moment. She stares at her lap. Gene pretends not to hear her sniffling, to see her hands reach up to wipe her cheeks.

            “Well, he’s not exactly an innocent victim here. He should have said something too. But Louise, I think that’s a really good place to start,” he says.

           

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            The night before they turned in their v-cards, Louise tossed the box of overpriced condoms into Rudy’s lap. Reg-Rude was sitting on the curb under a streetlight made slightly hazy with moths, inhaler still in his hand. She sat down and took a slurp of her cherry ICEE, then offered the cup to him. He gave her a thin, embarrassed smile, and drank some.

            “That guy was an ass,” she said.

            “He was okay, I just couldn’t…”

  
            “Well, I don’t like being eye-banged by some gross older guy, but here they are.”

            Rudy pocketed the box. They agreed in advance that he should hold them, since they were going to do it at his house anyway, and even if his Dad found them—which he wouldn’t—it would result in far less questions and operatic drama than if Linda stumbled on them. Louise waited until his breathing was basically normal, then stood up.

            “Tomorrow, 11:00.”

            Rudy stood up too. To her surprise, he leaned in to kiss her. They hadn't kissed sober since they were nine. He tasted of ersatz cherry with backwash of inhaler. There was something pleasantly take-charge in the way he took her cheeks in his hands and held her. She felt a trail of desire snake through her as their tongues entwined.

            He broke the kiss and smiled down at her. “Tomorrow, 11:00.”

            “Yeah,” she breathed, suddenly aware that she was on her toes, leaning towards him for more.

            Rudy turned and walked away with—she couldn’t miss it—a very un-Rudylike swagger.


	4. FOUR

“ _Taking more than her share_  
_Had me fighting for air_  
_She told me to come but I was already there_  
_'Cause the walls start shaking_  
_The earth was quaking_  
_My mind was aching_  
_And we were making it and you_

 _Shook me all night long_  
_Yeah you shook me all night long_ ”

 

“You Shook Me All Night Long,” by AC/DC

 

 

            “ _What the actual fuck!_ ” Louise bellows, pointing at the vase of red roses sitting on her desk. For a split second, she’s not sure which is worse, the violation of her sanctuary, or the fact that she knows exactly who they’re from without even looking at the note.   She grabs the vase, determined to throw the lot of it—the flowers, the note, and Rudy’s stupid, dumb feelings—out the window, without even bothering to open the sash.

            She hears her mother call out something, and the door opens.

            “Mom, _no_!” Louise holds the vase over her head, ready to smash it through the glass. The last thing she can handle right now is Linda Belcher’s extra-extraness.

            Linda closes the door behind her, and sits down on Louise’s bed. Her voice is unusually soft, sympathetic and kind. “Sit down, honey.”

            Louise slowly places the vase on her desk, her eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. She expected teasing, loud enthusiasm that was both aurally and emotionally tone-deaf. It’s what her mother does best. But this Linda—this almost-normal Mom—is someone she scarcely ever sees, and almost enjoys confiding in, on the rare times Louise needs to confide to a parent.

            Louise sits next to her mother. “This is so lame and stupid.”

            “The florist delivered them just after you and your brother left to take out the trash.”

            Louise grinds her teeth. After she knocks the idiocy out of Rudy, she’s going after the florist for delivering the roses that make her room stink of old lady and guilt.

            “They’re from Rudy, aren’t they?”

            Louise groans and flings herself onto her back. She covers her eyes with her forearm. “Why won’t he _get the hint_?”

            Her mother pauses, and Louise can sense her choosing her words carefully. This kind of heart-to-heart is the sort of thing Linda craves, but can rarely achieve with her youngest child. “Maybe for the same reason you didn’t see this coming, sweetie.”

            Louise is upright now, determined to throw the flowers and her mother both out of the window. Anger mixes with panic that her mother knows more than she’s saying, and Louise’s voice takes on a screech. “So this is _my_ fault?!?”

            “Sometimes we don’t see what we don’t want to see.”

            It’s a truth so simple that Louise can’t argue it. Louise is relieved; if her mother knew the entire story, they’d no doubt rehash the horrible sex-ed talk from years ago. Louise is still convinced her mother’s clitoris song gave her PTSD. “I _want_ to like-like him back, but I don’t, and I can’t.” Louise looks up at her mother, all big eyes and innocence. “I’ve really _tried_ , Mom.”

            Linda’s heart breaks a little, remembering her own misadventure with Hugo. “I’m glad to hear it.”

            “Really?”

            Her mother reaches over and combs her fingers through Louise’s hair, a gesture that never fails to soothe her. “Yes, really, baby. As friends, you’re wonderfully matched, but more than that, no. You would eat him alive, and you’d resent him for letting you do it.”

            “That’s exactly how I feel!”

            Linda mentally chalks this one up to mom-sense. “And I’ve worried sometimes that…well, it’s easy to go along to get along with a friend, especially one like Rudy. It’s so much harder to remain true to yourself.”

            Louise smirks. “Mom, I’m not exactly the go-along-to-get-along type.”

            “I know, sweetie. But Rudy brings out a…different side of you, and I’ve sometimes thought that if he turns those puppy eyes on you at just the right time--”

            “Sick, Mom.” Louise sighs. “I’ve…I’ve gotta just rip off the Band-Aid and tell him, don’t I?”

            “Yeah, baby, I think you do. But not tonight. It can wait until tomorrow. “

            Louise pounds her fists on the bed cover. “Goddamn, this sucks!”

            “Once it’s over, it will be done with. The anticipation is worse than anything.”

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #                       

           Two weeks ago Saturday, Louise stood under the tree in the Stiebliz backyard, taking regular, calming breaths.  She wanted to do this, and was certain that Rudy was the best choice for her first, but she was still nervous. 

            **Louise:** _Hey st00pid, let me in._

            Rudy must have been in the kitchen waiting for her text, because the door flung open almost immediately. Louise crossed the yard and he greeted her at the door.

            “Did you think I bailed on you?”

            “Well, yeah, kind of.”

            Louise shook her head. She loathed it when other people were late, but tended to play it fast and loose with the clock herself. “Mom got an emergency call from Aunt Gayle.”

            “What’s going on?”

            “I don’t know, something about loosing at cards against her cat or something, I think. Aunt Gayle business. Anyway, Mom left to spend the night to make sure she doesn’t kill herself or whatever.”

            “Oh.”

            “Yeah.”

            Rudy didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, and began to fiddle with his left earlobe, a nervous gesture he was dinged on every time he gave a presentation to the class. Louise found herself staring at a flier held to the refrigerator with a Fresh Feed magnet. “Singles Mingle to Write Jingles?”

            Rudy’s voice broke slightly. “Yeah. It’s Mr. Frond and Courtney’s dad’s brain child.”

            Louise snorted. “Sounds like something they should have aborted.”

            The joke was terrible, not even close to her normal standards, but there was nothing normal about this situation. Rudy took a breath, reached out, and began to play with the strap of her tank top. He pushed it down, exposing the sweep of her shoulder. His hand traveled along her bare skin and up to the curls at the nape of her neck. He tugged, a possessive gesture, tilting her head up to his. Their mouths met with mutual hunger, and Louise arched her back, moaned into his mouth, as his free hand grabbed her ass and pressed her up against his growing erection. She never knew she could feel such a powerful wave of emotions, and it both intrigued and terrified her.

          “Louise?”

          Her eyes fluttered open. His voice was deeper, heavy with lust, but there was concern in his eyes. “Do you…still…?”

          “Let’s go upstairs.”

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

           Typically, it’s almost impossible for Louise to use the speedbag without hearing the _Rocky_ theme in her head. Today, the morning after the flower incident, it’s impossible for her to use the speedbag at all.

           “Son of a bitch!” she shouts as she looses count for like, the thousandth time in a row and misses the bag.

           Louise steps back, growling, lightly pounding her head in frustration with her wrapped hands. Fine. Back to baby-town basics.

           Arms up, close to the bag. Start with the left arm, then the right, slowly punching with the sides of her fists. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, hitting on “three.”

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

            Once it was all over, Rudy pillowed his head on her chest and took a light nap. She ran her hands lightly over his hair and shoulders, smiling up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling of his bedroom. They were too sweaty for any sort of sheet to cover them, and the towel that Rudy thoughtfully placed under them was rough on her back end.

            It hurt, like Tina said it would, not terribly so, but her hiss of pain had made him pause mid-thrust, look down at her with worry she could sense in the dark. She knew she was bleeding. “Slowly,” she breathed.

            What surprised her wasn’t the pain or the blood, but that she, Louise Belcher, of all people, proved to be a total cuddle monster. The actual act, the p-in-v thing, was…okay, she guessed, probably would be better once she healed up. But it was the foreplay, the snuggling, even the stupid sweet nothings he whispered in her ear, that she really enjoyed.

            As if sensing her thoughts, Rudy awoke, yawned, and kissed her nipple. “You’re so beautiful.”

            She gasped, taken by surprise. “What time is it?”

           With a slight groan, he sat up, unsticking himself from her, and checked the phone she left on his dresser. “It’s 12:21.”

           He was paler than she was, the result of ginger genes and indoor living, and his body all but glowed in the moonlight streaming in through the window. She stroked his thigh. “I don’t have to leave until 5:30,” she said, lightly pushing him onto his back.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

 

          Down in the basement, her fist misses the bag again. “ _Fuck!_ ”

          The door flings open, and her father appears. “Louise, we can hear you cursing in the restaurant.”

          “So? I don’t give a—sorry, Dad. I think I’m done for the day.”

          Bob comes partly down the stairs. “Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”

          “No.” Louise feels like she has talked about “it” with practically everyone she knows at this point.

         Her dad’s shoulders slump with relief; though they handle it in different ways, her with violence, him with avoidance, the fact of the matter is that neither of them deals well with emotional issues. “Okay. Louise?”

         “Yeah, Dad?”

         “You’ve got this.”

        Her father’s confidence in her is the best pep talk she could have received. “Thanks, Dad.”


	5. FIVE

“ _Don't know what you got till it's gone_  
_Don't know what it is I did so wrong_  
_Now I know what I got_  
_It's just this song_  
_And it ain't easy to get back_  
_Takes so long_ ”

“Don’t Know What You Got,” by Cinderella

 

            Post-lunch but pre-dinner rush, as Louise sluggishly ties her apron, Gene climbs onto a booth. “May I have your attention please?” he announces to the empty restaurant.

            Bob pokes his head out from the kitchen, where he’s desperately prepping a late delivery of tomatoes. “Gene...”

            “Being officially the best large brother in the world, I hereby announce that I am officially taking over my sister’s shift this evening, effective immediately, so she can work on other, wheezier concerns.”

            “Fine, loser.”

            Now their father frowns at her. “Louise.”

            “Hey, it’s only Wednesday night, he’ll barely make any tips. I win.” But she smiles at her brother as she hangs up her apron. She needs time alone, to plan exactly what she’s going to say.

 

#                        #                        #                        #                        #

           

            Hours later, Louise is on her bedroom floor doing planks, her core screaming for mercy. She’s logged over an hour on YouTube watching stupid stunts go terribly wrong, mostly of the crotch and/or face smacking variety, she’s done endless sets of push-ups, she's read a chapter of a Jeffery Dahmer biography, and she’s all out of ideas. Louise Belcher is a doer, not a planner, and a large part of her desperately wants to do nothing, which is distracting her from making any real decisions. With a groan, she sits on her bed and picks up her phone. She needs to call him, to arrange to do this face-to-face.

            Damn it, he’s sent her more messages. Rudy’s constant texts don’t help, either, especially with all the heart and wink emojis.

 **2:24—** Did you get the flowers?

 **4:20—** Get it?

 **4:47—** I made them keep the thorns on, because they remind me of you.

          (Louise smiles at that one; he really does know her well. Right now they’re on her parent’s dresser, where her mother can enjoy them, but Louise doesn’t need to see them. It’s a compromise that satisfied both mother and daughter.)

 **5:57—** I miss you.

 **6:12—** Why won’t you talk to me?

 **6:33—** I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me.

 **6:41—** I can’t fix it if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.

           The stench of desperation both disgusts and worries her. It’s 6:57 now. She promises herself she will definitely, absolutely, text him at 7:07. Why that exact time, she doesn’t know, it just sounds like the right time to do it. At least it’s a deadline, right?

           She opens the message box and begins to fiddle with the emojis. Are there any appropriate to this situation? And why can she hear music playing outside?

            It’s not Gene, and it’s not a loud car sound system. Besides, if it were any of those things, she wouldn’t hear it so clearly, because her window faces the alley, not the street. _Oh goddamn it…_

She feels like she’s moving at half-speed as she pockets her phone and runs to the window. _Pleasenopleasenopleaseno—_

            But of course, there he is, sweaty in the muggy evening heat, holding a dinosaur’s boom box high above his head. It’s belting out some ancient 1980’s song that her dad and other cavemen listened to when they were teens, something syrupy and gross, it’s giving her ears diabetes.

            Louise throws open the window. “What the hell, Rudy?”

            “I need to talk to you!” Goal achieved, he shuts off the music and sets the box down on the steps with shaking arms.

            “I’m coming, just… _God_!”

            Louise focuses on her anger as she ties on her shoes and storms down the fire escape. She marches up to him, grabs a fistful of t-shirt, and drags him down to eye level. “Do that again and I will fucking cut you.”

            “Hey, there’s my girl.”

            She lets him go, and this time grabs her own hair in frustration. “I’m not—no, not here.”

            Louise storms off down the street. Rudy follows her two paces, five paces, ten paces behind, asking where they’re going, eventually his voice starting to take on a raspy wheeze. Louise stops with a stamp of her foot. Damn it, they’ve only made it to Falafel on a Waffle. Louise feels like she could run straight to the Warf, across the ocean, and meet the Queen for breakfast, but of course Rudy’s dumb, weak lungs can barely take him two blocks. Oh well; they’re out of earshot of her family, and that’s really all she wanted, anyway. She pulls him back into the alley, out of public view, and pushes him down on a crate.

            “Inhaler. Now.”

            Rudy fumbles with his inhaler and brings his breathing back to normal while Louise paces. The straightforward approach should work. _Rudy, you’re my friend, but nothing more than that. I don’t want a boyfriend, or whatever you think you are to me. I’m sorry you thought otherwise, but we aren’t suited to each other that way, and I’m sure you’ll find a better girl for you and you’ll forget all about this._ Perfect. She rehearses it several times in her mind.

            “Louise, stop pacing, you’re making me dizzy.”

            She takes a breath and sits next to him.

            “I’ve tried to tell you, Louise, I lo—“

            “Don’t!”

            Rudy stands up. The lights are brighter here than they are behind her parent’s restaurant, and she can clearly see the torment on his face.

            “I _have_ to say it, Louise.”

            “Fine,” she mumbles. Hey, she tried to spare him this; maybe once he talks this foolishness out of his system there’ll be room for good sense.

            “I think I’ve loved you since that day at the science museum. You’re so strong and brave and smart…and…and…just you.” He sits back down and reaches out, hesitantly, to stroke her hair. She restrains the urge to knock his hand away. “You’re beautiful, I’m so lucky,” he breathes.

            This is the perfect moment for her speech, but Louise looks into his gentle, russet brown eyes, and can’t really remember what she wanted to say. She does, however, clearly remember him on top of her, inside of her, whispering those same things and more in her ear, and the way her heart melted a little, never knowing before how much she wanted someone to say them.

             “I thought you understood.”

            “I do, sweetheart,” Rudy says with heartbreaking kindness. He takes her hand in his. “I wish I had more experience, but we’ll learn, together. It will be better next time, I promise.”

            Louise remembers what her mother said about his puppy eyes. Nobody has ever looked at her like that before, and she’s certain nobody will ever look at her again with such pure, innocent adoration. Damn it, Linda was right. It would be so easy to just give him what he wants, and pretend that she had been scared off by the sex. It would make her friend happy, he’d worship her forever, and part of her really does want to do it again with him. But it wouldn’t just be a lie, it would be a gross betrayal, and she cares about him too much to use him at that level.

            Louise sighs, takes a breath, and prepares herself to do the bravest, most selfless thing she’s ever done, and break her best friend’s heart. “Rudy, we should have talked like this before. I—you—you’re my best friend, but I just don’t feel that way about you. I thought you understood. I’m so sorry.”

            Rudy’s face freezes in horror, but returns to life as desperation takes hold. “But you could learn! Friends to lovers and—“

            “No Rudy, I’ve tried, I’ve tried so hard, but I don’t love you the way you want me to. I want to, but I just can’t.”

            Rudy drops to his knees in front of her. His eyes are shiny, pleading, as he grasps her hands. “Louise, I know it hurt, we don’t have to do it again if you don’t want to.”

            She jerks out of his grip.  “Damn it Rudy, that’s not the point!” Louise cringes at the hurt expression in his eyes. “I—look, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m trying to be nice, you ass.”

            She watches Rudy’s face crumple as he realizes that her decision is final.  It reminds her of the old _Simpson’s_ episode where Lisa lost her temper with Ralph Wiggum, and publicly declared that she wasn’t his girlfriend. Louise always used to laugh with Bart as he played the tape over and over, pointing out that you could actually _see_ the point where Lisa broke Ralph’s heart. She doesn’t think she’ll laugh at that scene ever again.

            Rudy stands up. “Yeah. Okay, I got it. I’m going home now.”

            “Rudy? Are we still--?”

            “Friends?” Rudy turns to look at her, and she’s never seen him look more exhausted or bitter. “Yeah. But I’ll call you, okay?”

            “Okay,” Louise says, shocked at how small and guilty her voice sounds. She feels like she just murdered him. They may still be friends, but she knows things will never be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Readers,
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this story. 
> 
> I have absolutely no idea how it became a love-letter to 1980s pop culture, but I’m not mad at it. As you know, I neither own nor make any profit from "Bob's Burgers" or these songs, I just find them appropriate to the story.
> 
> I take no credit for the "Archer" references.
> 
> The idea for the story was inspired by a plotline in "Little Women," by Louisa May Alcott, wherein (spoiler) a character tells another character that they can only be friends. I always thought Alcott handled that scene with remarkable sensitivity—really found the “truthiness” of the feelings of the characters. If there’s anything worse than unrequited love, it’s shutting down a dear friend that you just can’t like-like in return. 
> 
>  
> 
> Yours,  
> DangerFloof


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